You Again

by Peggy Nicholson

  Jessica walked in the doctors’ door to Diagnostics by nine. Telephone held to one ear, Caroline looked up from the appointment book and rolled her eyes. “If you’re having heart palpitations, Mr. Kirby, then I really think you should see our cardiologist, Dr.—Oh? Well…If you’re sure…Let me see if Dr. Myles can work you in this—”

  She stopped as Jessica shook her head frantically. “Um, just a moment, Mr. Kirby, while I put you on hold.” She hit a button, then cocked an eyebrow.

  “Samuel Kirby?” Jessica demanded. It was six in the morning in California, for Pete’s sake. Maybe he had given up sleeping.

  “Yes. I guess he knows you?”

  Apart from Sam’s side of the equation—his family, plus a motley crew of lab mates, professors, janitors, jamsession buddies, weight-lifting pals and whoever else he’d buttonholed on the street to tell on a whim—only Jessica’s parents and a few select friends from college knew she’d ever been married. The less people the better, as far as Jessica was concerned. It was nobody’s business but her own.

  “I’ve met him, but I don’t want to take him on as a patient. None of us would want him. Why don’t you recommend Dr. Rheinhardt?”

  Caroline gave her a look, but she nodded and hit the line button. “Mr. Kirby? I don’t believe we can help you here. In fact, I’m sure we can’t. Could I recommend another doctor?”

  Jessica moved on toward her office.

  Behind her, Caroline said, “Dr. Rheinhardt’s a, er, proctologist—I beg your pardon?” She slammed the phone down. “Well, really!”

  Ducking into her office, Jessica closed the door, leaned against it and blew out a breath. He’d learned where she worked through the convention roster, she supposed. Or perhaps he’d wheedled it out of her mother?

  Jessica had never explained why she’d left Sam—it had been too humiliating. And naturally her parents would never ask, if she didn’t volunteer the information. Still, she’d always suspected they’d been disappointed by her divorce.

  But then, what had she ever done but disappoint them? If she couldn’t be a brilliant surgeon like her brother, Winston, the very least she could have done was to marry someone brilliant—then have the grace to stay married.

  Instead, she’d left her husband just as he was making it to the big time. Her father couldn’t even drop Sam’s name at parties, my son-in-law, a Nobel laureate, you know, molecular biologist…

  Jessica blew out another breath and crossed to her desk. Time to prep for her first patient. Work—it would save her, if anything could. Uncle, my ass, Sam Kirby.

  She focused ferociously on medicine till noon, and when she did break concentration, it was to contemplate her other problem—Raye Talbot. After a moment’s thought she picked up the phone.

  “Dr. Talbot’s office,” answered Raye’s receptionist, Tiffany, in her breathy, baby-talk voice.

  In Jessica’s estimation, this young woman’s sole aim in life was to grow the longest fingernails known to man. It was odd that Raye wouldn’t want someone with Caroline’s tact and common sense to represent her interests before the public. But then, wasn’t this just one more oddity among dozens? “This is Dr. Myles. May I speak to Dr. Talbot, please?”

  “Oh, she’s wandered off somewhere. D’you want me t’take a message?”

  “No, thanks, I’ll try back later.” Jessica had made up her mind. There was no way she’d see Raye socially, not until she’d sorted out just who and what the psychiatrist was.

  Most likely, she kept telling herself, there was some perfectly innocent explanation for the anomalies she’d uncovered. But what that explanation was, she couldn’t begin to guess.

  And she’d placed herself in the awkward position of knowing more than she should, yet not being able to ask for clarifications. Raye, I’ve been snooping around in your past, and I have just a few questions. Right.

  It was an awkward position all around. Without asking, she might never learn the truth of the matter. Yet without knowing, she wasn’t willing to further the relationship. The best course seemed to be to mind her own business, as she should have done from the start.

  But meantime there was young Jon Cooper, with misery written all over his face—what about him? Jessica gritted her teeth and went back to work.

  She tried once more to reach Raye, without success, then didn’t try again until she found a gap in her schedule at three. Jessica dashed down to the cafeteria for a cup of soup. Returning to the professional building, she paused outside the door to Raye’s office.

  It would be easier to do this by phone. Raye had a certain…power, especially face-to-face. A way of sweeping you along with her plans, whatever your own desires. But not this time, Jessica told herself. Sam might call her a rabbit, and maybe sometimes she was, but not this time. This time she’d simply say, “No, thank you.” Lifting her chin, she opened the door—to find the waiting room empty.

  The glass slider that walled off the pass-through to the receptionist’s office was open, but the lights were switched off in there. They’ve gone home for the day? Jessica frowned. Great, she didn’t have Raye’s home number and would bet it wasn’t listed. Yet it wouldn’t be fair to leave Raye thinking she had a companion for supper, much less make her drive by Jessica’s house for a no-show.

  Besides, if Raye made it as far as Jessica’s doorstep, would she take no for an answer?

  “Hello?” Jessica leaned over the counter. There was only one door leading from the receptionist’s cubbyhole. That was to her left, opening onto an inner hallway apparently. That door was closed.

  On a side table, a computer sat, with its screen-saver program turned on, the monitor glowing in the dimness. A kaleidoscopic pattern expanded, changed from blue, to lavender, to rosy pink, to blood red—collapsed. A new design formed slowly from the rubble, spinning, shapes within shapes, strange patterns teetering on the brink of consciousness and recognition.

  If the computer was still switched on, then they hadn’t shut down for the night. Someone had to be around. “Hello?”

  Jessica pushed away from the counter to study a closed door in the waiting room—the only other door in sight. If this suite was like the Diagnostics suite across the hall, then this door led to a corridor, with exam rooms off it. Raye’s office would be somewhere along the hall. Perhaps she was in, even if her secretary had stepped out?

  Jessica opened the door. “Raye?” The suite was much smaller than Diagnostics’—hardly surprising, she supposed, since Raye worked without partners. The first door to the left led to a small washroom. To the right was the door to the receptionist’s room. Beyond, there was one more door.

  “Hello?” Jessica knocked, and when no one answered, she entered.

  The office was larger than she’d expected, and empty. Empty, yet filled with the essence of its owner. Jessica stood in the doorway, sniffing musk and cinnamon, her eyes probing the shadows.

  At the near end of the room, a sweep of gleaming, asymmetrical ebony formed Raye’s desk. No papers, framed photos, pen stands—none of the usual office clutter or personal knickknacks marred its glossy surface, except for…Jessica’s eyes stopped on the round, dark shape.

  Shoes sinking into misty blue carpet, she crossed to the desk and reached for the object.

  It was a stone, black, not quite a perfect egg shape, its silky smoothness conforming perfectly to the palm of the hand. Some people stroke black cats, all warmth and softness and grateful noise, she found herself thinking. Some people stroke cold— She put it down where she’d found it, within easy reach of Raye’s black leather swivel chair.

  I shouldn’t be here. The feeling of intrusion was intense. Jessica turned to face the couch and chair at the far end of the room.

  One chair. So Raye took the classical approach—patient lying on couch, analyst seated near the patient’s head, just beyond his field of vision. In control. Many therapists had moved away from that autocratic model to a more egalitarian relationship—two cozy chairs facing ea
ch other, the occupants partners with a shared goal.

  Couch, chair, walls, ceiling, the carpet, all were that same shade of misty, shifting blue. Raye had been a sailor before she entered medicine. A boat bum, she’d called herself with a mocking grin—the big sailing yachts, Bermuda, across to the Med, down to the Caribbean. It had been the cane rum she’d drunk with their meal at that little Jamaican dive that had set her to reminiscing.

  The entire room was an ocean of color. Would you feel as if you were floating, lying there on her couch? Or drowning? Jessica shivered, and swung back to the desk. Leave a note, then get out of here.

  But facing the desk, she noticed something else this time—the framed diploma on the wall beyond.

  The parchment certificate was impressive, and nearly illegible—dense with medieval lettering, flamboyant signatures, ancient seals. A diploma from the School of Medicine, St. George’s University.

  Hands spread on the desk, Jessica leaned close to study it. The diploma had been awarded to—she squinted—Anne? No, too long for Anne, though that capital was surely an A. And that letter had to be an n, just after. She walked around the desk to stand, her face only inches from the glass.

  The diploma had been awarded to Ann—ette R. Talbot. Annette? Jessica put a hand to the frame and leaned even closer.

  The first four letters of the name were sprawling, bold. The last three were cramped, as if the calligrapher hadn’t foreseen his available space.

  Darkness moved in the glass—a reflection. “Find something interesting?” Raye drawled from the doorway.

  Jessica spun, her fingers jarring the diploma’s frame as she let go. It swung on its suspension point, then swung back, ticking against the wall like a tapping finger. Here, here, here… “Oh, Raye!” She smiled, all too aware that her face was red and growing redder. “You startled me.”

  “So I see.” Raye glided into the room, her head tipped slightly to one side. Her fine, dark eyes were wide and unblinking. She set a foam cup of coffee on her desk. “Find something interesting?”

  “Not really. I was just admiring the…the calligraphy on your diploma.” She’d never lied well, wasn’t lying well now. Jessica swung to straighten the picture frame. “I like calligraphy.”

  “Do you?”

  Now the frame was tipped too far the other way. Jessica leveled it precisely with a fingertip. “Oh, yes…”

  Raye’s silence beat at her like the waves that follow a stone dropped into a pool. She babbled on, willing the other woman to speak, to help her over this moment. “And I didn’t know Raye was your middle name, not your first. Annette, that’s quite pretty. Why don’t you go by Annette?”

  “Never cared for it.”

  The frame was level now, but Jessica didn’t turn. She stood, staring at the glass. She could see the dimensions of the taller woman standing behind her, dark shape against misty blue. “I know what you mean. I hated Jessica when I was little. But my parents always insisted on calling me that. They refused to shorten it. I got used to it finally, I suppose.”

  “You let someone else name you.” Raye’s words were weightless, hanging between them.

  “I suppose so.” Jessica tried to laugh as she turned. “Most parents do name their kids.”

  Sometimes Raye’s smile was like a shrug—a quick lift and fall of the long, red lips.

  Jessica circled the desk, drifting toward the exit.

  Raye didn’t step back to maintain the correct social distance.

  To approach her was hard. And she knows that, Jessica thought, suddenly angry. Everything was a game with her, a testing, the way Cattoo would prod a potential toy in hopes that it was alive. Well, I’ve had enough. I want no part of this.

  Still, Raye’s silence battered her. “If you don’t like Annette, have you ever gone by Anne?” Perhaps here was the key to the riddle, though she was too rattled to put it together right now.

  Raye had been reaching for her coffee as Jessica spoke. Her hand stopped. “Anne?” The gesture continued. She pulled the top from the cup, crossed to a trash basket, dropped the lid from eye level. Her eyes tracked its fluttering fall. “Ohhh, perhaps I’ve called myself Anne once or twice in my life. When I wanted to sound reliable.”

  She’s laughing at me. That’s why I don’t like her—she laughs behind her eyes. Or am I imagining it all? Whichever, the way was clear now, and Jessica took it. Then paused when she reached the door. “Oh, why I was in here-”

  “Yesss?” Raye smiled without smiling—something in the voice.

  “I was looking for paper to write you a note. I can’t make it tonight. I’m really behind, you see, after all the time I lost going to New York.”

  This time, Raye did smile. “I do see. Then I’ll just have to catch you later, won’t I?” She turned away, reached across her desk and picked up the stone.

  THREE LETTERS that didn’t fit the line they were written on…a woman smooth and self-contained as a stone…a young man bolting out of a closet…a rock-headed Texan who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Mr. Kirby says his heart problems are getting worse,” reported Caroline with a straight face at four o’clock. “He says if you won’t treat him, he’s considering a malpractice suit.”

  She’s beginning to enjoy this, Jessica realized wrathfully. And Sam certainly was. Clearly he meant to nag her till she cried uncle and picked up the phone. “The next time he calls, tell him I’m considering a harassment suit!”

  She turned back to the articles she’d downloaded from a medical data base. Concentrate on my work, but how, with all this pressing in on me? Shut it out, forget it… “The patient presented with the following symptoms…dyspnea, tachycardia—heart palpitations.” Why had he said that? She’d never broken his heart. It was he who…Stop it! “…presented with the following symptoms…”

  She stuck it out until eight—would have stayed longer, but there was Cattoo to consider. Perhaps she should find Cattoo a playmate, a second cat to keep her company, but Jessica balked at the notion. Right now she was first in Cattoo’s heart. Nice to be first in someone’s heart, even if it was only a cat. Still, she should consider it. This wasn’t fair.

  Cattoo agreed with that assessment. She met Jessica at the door with an accusing yowl, then darted away before Jessica could pick her up. Her lost-kitten wail echoed back from the kitchen. I’m all alo-o-one! Nobody lo-oves me.

  “We’ll play!” Jessica called, dropping her briefcase on the coffee table, then slipping out of her jacket. “Honest, fuzzbucket, we’ll play all night if you want. And tomorrow’s Friday. Hang on one more day and—”

  Dong!

  She spun around to face the door. Now who?

  Sam! But no, it couldn’t be. He’d called Caroline from San Francisco just as the switchboards shut down. Had tried to bribe her with a lifetime supply of Ghirardelli chocolates if she’d put Jessica on the line, Caroline had reported, giggling—a phenomenon that Jessica had never seen before.

  Dong-donga-dong-dong. Dong! Dong!

  With a hiss of exasperation, Jessica opened the door.

  “Surprise!” Raye Talbot caroled, standing on the doorstep. Her eyes snapped with excitement, her teeth gleamed. Her cheeks were flushed—this was Raye at her most effervescent, the polar opposite to the still woman of this afternoon. She waved a bottle of wine before Jessica’s face. Her other hand held a pizza box. “If you won’t come out and party, then the party has come to you! Let me in, it’s cold out here. Brrrr!”

  “But—” hanging on to the edge of the door, Jessica stepped back half a pace as Raye swayed closer “—Raye, I can’t—”

  “Sure you can!” Raye laughed, nudging Jessica’s wrist upward with her forearm. As Jessica let go the door and retreated, Raye advanced, holding out the bottle. “Take this, would you? I’m about to drop it.” She shut the door, locked it, swung back again. “Oh, lovely! It’s warm in here.”

  She swept past Jessica to set the pizza on the coffee table. Then shrugge
d out of her black mink jacket and tossed it on the couch.

  Beneath that she wore a black turtleneck, black jeans, black boots. She shook her long, shiny hair out from her collar and gave Jessica a vivid smile. “Where’s the kitchen? We really ought to warm this pizza up for a few minutes— but only a few. I’m starving!”

  Jessica didn’t move. “Raye.”

  Carrying the box, Raye was halfway across the room already. “Through here?”

  Jessica raised her voice. “Raye, I’m sorry. But I meant it this afternoon. I’m busy tonight. I’m sorry…” she repeated as the psychiatrist turned, her delighted child’s smile starting to fade.

  “No. Oh, no, I’m sorry.” Raye shrugged. “It was just that…” Again she shrugged. “Forget it. I’m being pushy, aren’t I? I do that sometimes.”

  “No! It was a charming idea. It’s just that…” I don’t like being invaded. I don’t like someone who blows hot one minute, cold the next.

  “Today’s my birthday,” Raye said, looking down at the pizza box. “I didn’t like to say, but I sort of…felt like celebrating. With somebody.” She looked up with a rueful smile. “Silly me.”

  “No. Oh, no, not silly at all!” Jessica had been there, how many times before? Marking a birthday with a deluxe pizza for one, a split of champagne, a rented video. Lying to her parents when they called to wish her a happy, claiming she’d be going out come the weekend with friends to celebrate. “You should have said so, Raye!”

  So this was what underlay Raye’s polished armor, a loneliness as deep and wide as Jessica’s own. A pride that wouldn’t let you cry uncle no matter how you might long to do so.

  She took the box from Raye’s unresisting hands and started for the kitchen. “Which birthday, or dare I ask?”

  “The big four-oh, shit!” Raye admitted, following at her heels. “But really, Jessica, if you don’t have time…”